Chapter 5 Lorenzo
I f someone had told me Sophia Evans looked even better in business attire than in the short little black dress she wore for my birthday dinner, I would have laughed. But damn. She looks so elegant and put together. The way her long brown hair settles on her hips makes me want to bend her over one of these desks and have my way with her.
You already slept with her once, and you don’t do repeats.
Semantics. There’s a first time for everything. This is the woman who has been stuck in my head for a year; sleeping with her one more time wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. The universe practically handed her to me on a silver platter, and who am I to question its intentions?
When I discovered she worked for Vogue Elite , I researched every single article she’s written. I even found the pieces she did for her college newspaper when she was a student. And I read all of them—every single one of the 450 articles.
I found myself quickly becoming obsessed and intrigued by her writing. She can make the most mundane topics shine. She’s an amazing writer, and even for a useless web media like this, there’s magic in her words. But let’s face it, I don’t do interviews. Everyone knows that. I’ve never been interested in what people have to say about me. Not that it stops them from writing gossip columns. I let people write and believe what they want. I don’t give them the ammunition. Whatever conclusions they assume, it’s all them. People often wonder why I let the media get away with so much, and the answer is simple—I don’t give a fuck. I know they’re twisting the truth. Does it drive the board at Vortex a little crazy when I’m always the center of every gossip media website? Yes. And honestly, knowing those stuck-up sons of bitches aren’t fans of me, but are stuck with me, makes the situation far too entertaining.
Vogue Elite was no exception to my no-interview rule, but as I was ready to turn them down, I found myself saying yes instead. Am I using this as an excuse to get closer to her? Maybe—okay, yes. Absolutely.
I’m playing with dangerous fire here, but fuck , I bet we’d burn so good together.
I’m obsessive by nature; once I set my eyes on something, I won’t let it go. They’ll have to rip it from my cold, dead hands. And even then, who knows what will happen?
She walks to her cubicle, grabs her purse, and stalks to the elevator without casting me a glance, like I’m a fly on the wall in her world. I quietly follow, waiting beside her for the elevator to arrive. The air between us crackles with tension, and I can’t deny it makes my body spike with excitement. Stepping into the elevator, I press the button for the plaza. And as the doors close, her eyes lock onto me with intense fury.
She crosses her arms tightly across her chest, and her white button-down shirt has a few buttons open. Her tits get pushed together, and the sight is out of this damn world. “What are you playing at? I thought you turned down the interview.”
A relaxed smile tugs on my lips, my eyes dropping to her mouth-watering cleavage. “Not sure what you mean.” I shrug nonchalantly. “And I changed my mind. Problem?”
“Oh, please.” She puffs, rolling her eyes. “ I’ve read the articles you’ve written over the years. You’re a great writer ,” she mocks in a gruff voice.
I roll my lips, trying to hold back my laughter. “Are you trying to impersonate me?”
“Yes, but it’s hard to imitate a stuck-up, self-centered man like you,” she snaps, flicking her fingers in front of me. “And my eyes are up here, asshole .” She points to her eyes with two fingers.
I smirk at her comment, my eyes still zeroed in on her cleavage just to get under her skin. Any other man might be insulted, but not me. There’s nothing I love more than the fire of a woman who pushes back. Insults only make me more eager to provoke a reaction. There’s nothing like the thrill coursing through my body right now at the bite of her voice.
I click the emergency button, causing the elevator to stop abruptly. “What’s your problem?” I ask with a light tone, my eyes finally finding hers.
“I didn’t peg you for a stupid man, but in case I wasn’t clear, you’re my problem.” Her voice drips with disdain as she glares at me with her intense, blue gaze.
“Why?” I reply, feigning innocence.
She uncrosses her arms and brushes her hair with her fingertips, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “This is great,” she murmurs to herself. “Pretending is not going to get you anywhere, Lorenzo. ”
The way my name rolls off her lips, so raspy and sultry, even with a hint of fury, makes my cock twitch.
You’re losing your mind here, Lorenzo.
Yeah, I know. And I’m 100% on board with it.
I raise my hands in defeat. “Okay, you got me. You’re really good at this game.”
“What game?” she asks with an incredulous look on her face.
Oh, is this how she wants to play it? Okay.
“Now who’s pretending?” I raise an eyebrow.
Her shoulders stiffen as she crosses her arms again and looks away without a word.
“I’m talking about the game where you pretend I didn’t fuck you senseless in a cleaning closet of a club a year ago,” I deadpan.
Her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen. Her eyes turn a shade darker, almost like a blue-gray color combination. I take two steps closer, her citrus and sweet scent invading my senses. She smells like…summer. I could close my eyes and imagine myself on a tropical island filled with wildflowers, palms, and a calm breeze. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t get enough of it.
“The game where you pretend your pussy wasn’t clenching around my cock as I was giving you a mind-blowing orgasm,” I rasp, barely above a whisper.
She takes two steps back, flustered, and presses the button to get the elevator moving again. “Someone sure thinks highly of himself. If I remember correctly, I gave you a 7 out of 10. Not exactly mind-blowing, is it?” She flicks her hair, hitting me with it in the process. Can’t say I’m mad at the act. Her hair smells like fucking heaven. “And I’m not pretending anything. I’m just trying to have more class than you by trying to do the right thing and move past it.”
“So you do remember.” I snort a laugh at her ridiculous comment. “And Bella? 1 , I know I wasn’t a 7. If I remember correctly, I gave you three solid orgasms.” I lift and wiggle three of my fingers as I get some distance from her, too, because the proximity affected me in other ways I didn’t think possible.
“Oh, you’re cocky, too. Figures ,” she retorts dryly.
“I’d rather you call me confident.” I grin.
The elevators open, and she quickly walks out, not waiting for me. She’s fairly shorter than me, even with those heels, so I quickly catch up.
Before I can retort, she turns around, pushing a finger on my chest. “Whatever game you’re playing at, I want no part of it. If this is your way of cornering me to confess I remember you, well, you already won. Now leave me the hell alone.” Anger flashes through her gaze, her eyes turning into an even darker shade of blue.
Why can’t I stop looking at them? She’s ready to push me off a cliff, but all I can focus on is the wild intensity of them, a mix of danger and beauty that’s impossible to ignore.
“Your eyes are so… blue ,” I find myself saying, mesmerized.
Her eyes meet mine for a split second before she rolls them. “You can differentiate colors, good for you .” With that, she stalks out of the building in fury.
I stride after her. “Sophia, wait!”
“Leave me the hell alone, Lorenzo. You’re insane if you think I’m having coffee with you now, or ever for that matter.” She grabs her phone from her purse, unlocking it and opening a ride-share app.
I snatch it quickly and hold it in the air. She tries to reach for it, but she’s so short, I easily tower over her. It’s kind of cute how hard she’s trying, though.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I got carried away, okay? But to be fair, you had no problem fucking with me the other night, so sue me for thinking you were still cool with it,” I retort.
She groans, exasperated. “That was before you decided to come to my place of employment and demand I write your article. Which, by the way, is the lamest way to get close to me. Couldn’t you have asked Aria for my number?”
I frown at her comment. “I chose you because you’re a great writer.”
And because part of you wants to get closer to her.
Yeah, well…no one has to know that.
A humorless laugh escapes her lips. “Oh, for the love of God, stop pretending. Have you even read any of my pieces?”
Her question throws me off, making me take a step back with a frown. How can she go from walking and talking with so much confidence to whatever this is? Without a word, I hand her the phone. She quickly grabs it and opens the ride-share app again.
Before she requests the car, I say, “Your debut statement piece in Vogue Elite was about three years ago during New York Fashion Week. You wrote about Marc Jacobs and the brilliant way he uses fabrics to convey feelings. It was quite moving. And that’s coming from a guy who knows nothing about fashion.”
She lifts her gaze from her phone, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Okay, well?—”
I raise my hand, interrupting her. “Or how about the time you wrote about the real story of Marilyn Monroe and how she suffered from misogynistic directors, and everything she accomplished as a woman in the fifties?”
She looks at me at a loss of words, shocked and confused. Funny, because I’m the one feeling pretty lost right now.
“Yeah.” I snort a humorless laugh. “I do my research. You don’t get to this level by being careless.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “It still doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that, especially now that we’ll be working together.”
I nod in agreement, a ping of regret flooding through me. I accept I tend to get carried away when I’m playing with fire. The thrill of the game is exciting. This is how I work. No filter and consequences be damned. Pushing her was unnecessary, but it’s like I have an angel on my right shoulder and a devil on the left.
And in my world, the devil always wins.
1 ? Beautiful.